


Untitled

by houndsoflove



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Crush, M/M, Pre-Slash, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houndsoflove/pseuds/houndsoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori secretly likes to draw the different members of the company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Hobbit fic I wrote, quite a while before the film came out. I found it again and decided to post it here!

It wasn’t a secret that Ori loved to draw and write. Whenever their party stopped to make camp he would pull out his book and excitedly draw the scenery or make notes of the day’s events. Sometimes he would venture on to drawing careful studies of clothes and weapons, and other times he would think of a lyric (Bombur was his foremost critic on this) or a poem. Everything went in the book. It wasn’t unusual to see him crouched between the gnarled roots of a tree, quill flitting to and fro, a smear of ink going unnoticed on the tip of his nose.

Ori had several special pages near the back of his book that he reserved for his favourite thing – portraits. He’d tried to get Dori to sit for one before, but he’d huffed and complained and fidgeted so much throughout he was never asked again. Afterwards Dori had likened his ink immortalisation to a ‘bilious-looking troll’. Since then Ori continued these particular artistic endeavours in secret. So far he’d managed to capture almost every member of their party. He had an entire page dedicated to Bombur alone; his decided lack of movement made him an ideal subject. The next page after that featured Bofur’s infectious grin and Balin’s noble nose. The page after that had Nori and Dori (hopefully looking less troll-like and bilious than before) drawn affectionately side by side. Then there was Gloin, Oin and Dwalin. Thorin, looking dark and stormy, also had his own page – it only seemed fitting – and Bilbo and Gandalf came after. Gandalf wasn’t always around, so Ori took time to memorise the shape of his hat and the fall of his beard so that he could do him justice in his absence. Last was Fili, taking up one small corner of the final page. Usually quiet and watchful during the night, Ori couldn’t draw him without getting nervous. After him the only dwarf left was young Kili. Every time Ori went to draw him, he found he couldn’t. His nib would be hovering over the page, but he was never sure how to continue. Eventually he would simply sigh and shut his book and tip away his ink for another day. It wasn’t the fact that Kili was restless and could never seem to sit still – he was usually dashing around fighting imaginary assailants, or acting out a practical joke, or laughing uproariously at some filthy anecdote – that wasn’t the problem. No matter how it came about, Ori just wanted to get his likeness right. It didn’t matter much to him if he drew Bifur’s eyes too small or if Dwalin’s head turned out looking like a potato. To Ori, it was about capturing something about them that you couldn’t see with your eyes alone.

***

On one particular night they were camping in a forest, huddled between slippery black boulders that jutted out here and there amongst the trees. The fire was low, and those that were still awake formed a close ring around it. Everyone’s attention was on Balin, who was telling a story; an epic, sprawling tale from the time of his ancestors. His voice was soft and murmuring, his head tilted onto his chest as if he were asleep. He recited the tale of a great battle long ago that was hard-won by the dwarves. Thorin looked over the heads of those gathered, puffing thoughtfully on his long pipe. Dwalin nodded sagely now and again as he listened. Gloin was beginning to drift into a slumber.  
Ori sat away from the group, watching them so intently that he felt he must not have blinked in hours. His attention rested solely on Kili, who was sitting cross-legged beside Balin and was clearly hanging on his every word. His expression wore an intensity that you would otherwise only see in battle. His eyes shone in the firelight. Tales of greatness against the odds, of clashing swords and axes, of glory and blood; they were the only thing that stopped him in his tracks and filled him with a quiet awe. Ori knew that Kili was placing himself inside Balin’s story, tiny against the immensity of it, but nonetheless the hero whose memory would burn bright unto the end of days.

Never taking his eyes away, Ori opened his book, sharpened his quill, and began to draw.

***

The next morning (and with barely any sleep) Ori sprang awake so that he could continue last night’s work. He was positively bubbling with inspiration.

But, just as he began, a shadow loomed over the page.

‘What’re you writing?’

‘M’not writing,’ Ori told Kili hurriedly. ‘Drawing.’

Ori quickly pressed the book to his chest as Kili tried to peer over the top of it.

‘Why won’t you show me?’

‘Th-they’re just silly old scribbles. I’ll probably crumple them up when I’m done. Put them in the fire.’

Kili stepped back and stood up straight, his mouth comically downturned in exaggerated disappointment. ‘That’s not fair.’

Ori fiddled with the spine of the book and dug his nose into the folds of his cowl. Kili shrugged and wandered off, kicking the soggy leaves in his path. When he was certain that Kili was at a safe distance, Ori quickly pushed the book open onto his lap and refreshed the ink in his quill. His work so far had gotten a bit smudged, but no matter. He swept the quill eagerly across the page, expressing waves of dark hair.

Kili sat down heavily next to his brother. Ori peeked over his drawn up knees, looking at them side by side. Fili and blades had too close an understanding for his own liking; he was a dwarf that Ori made every effort not to cross. He was cold and keen and often restrained to such a point that Ori was sure he’d one day burst at the seams. In battle he struck like lightning - moving fast, cleaving and hacking - and afterwards he would wipe his swords on the grass, shake the bloody hair off his forehead, and smile a private, satisfied smile. Ori shivered. He had been on the receiving end of Fili’s silent contempt one too many times. His brother, on the other hand...

Ori realised with a thrill of horror that Kili had noticed him staring. Amused, Kili stuck a tongue out at him and grinned. Ori quickly hid behind his book.

A short while passed before Kili was bored again. He sprung to his feet and went over to where the others were preparing breakfast behind some trees, out of sight. Ori breathed a sigh of relief.

There was an extended period of quiet before a predictable commotion broke out. Kili burst through the branches, laughing so hard that Ori could see tears running down his cheeks. Bombur lumbered through the branches behind him, yelling unintelligibly after Kili’s rapidly retreating form. Ori saw that Bombur’s behind was covered with fragments of eggshell, a generous amount of gooey yolk, and a limp strip of raw bacon.

The rest of the company wandered back into the clearing, gathering belongings, preparing for a new day’s arduous trek.

‘Bombur found out where Kili hid his breakfast, then,’ remarked Bofur cheerfully.

‘Wasn’t very nice of him,’ mumbled Ori, feeling a little sorry for Bombur.

Bofur chuckled and looked down at Ori, and then at the book that was still open on his lap. Ori gasped with embarrassment and fumbled to close it.

‘It’s a good likeness, that,’ mused Bofur, indicating Ori’s latest drawing with a nod of his head. Ori paused and looked down at the ink Kili, frozen in thought over last night’s campfire, and then back up at Bofur.

‘D’you think so?’ he asked uncertainly.

‘Oh, aye,’ continued Bofur. ‘It’ll look even better once you draw my hat in. Anyway, on your feet. We’ll be off within the hour.’

‘All right,’ said Ori bleakly. He put the book down and half-heartedly began to pack his things into his bag.

Bombur huffed back into the clearing, still as red-faced as before. ‘Couldn’t catch the blighter,’ he grumbled. ‘Next time, next time!’

Ori reached down for his book, but his hand met empty air. He patted around in the leaves for it. It wasn’t in his bag.

‘Pssst!’

Ori jumped and peered into the thicket behind him. Kili crouched under the branches, waving Ori’s book in his hand, grinning like a cat.

‘Give it back!’ hissed Ori, getting tangled in his cardigan as he tried to snatch it out of Kili’s grasp. His cheeks were burning hot.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Kili, holding it out of his reach. ‘Why are you all red? You didn’t sit in your breakfast as well, did you?’

‘ _Please_ give it back.’

Ori succeeded in knocking the book out of Kili’s hand, but when it hit the ground it fell open on the fireside portrait. Ori groaned.

‘That’s a very good drawing of Bofur,’ Kili said with an air of a pompous expert, ‘but his beard needs to be bigger.’

Ori huffed and stuffed the book safely back into his bag with a touch of finality.

‘Don’t be shy about it,’ said Kili brightly, climbing out of the thicket. Ori stood and brushed himself off.

‘Here, listen.’

‘What.’

‘Will you draw me?’

Ori stopped and stared at Kili. He clasped his bag so tightly to him that something inside it made a loud crunching noise. Kili bounced on his heels, looking at him questioningly.

‘I know Bofur’s interesting and everything, but why won’t you draw me?’

‘N-no reason,’ said Ori with a quick shake of his head.

‘Good. I can pose and everything. I’ll stand like this,’ – Kili placed one foot on a boulder and gestured off somewhere into the distance – ‘and have my sword pointing to the horizon. You could put some stormy clouds in there, or perhaps some fire. Maybe a dead orc at my feet?’

‘I’-I’ll see what I can do,’ said Ori breathlessly.

‘We’re off!’ roared Thorin from beyond the trees.

Kili trotted over to Fili’s side. The company filed out of the clearing gradually.

Ori remained where he was, a slow, dozy smile spreading across his face.

‘Come on,’ urged Dori impatiently, giving him a push. ‘There’s a reason why we were made so small; to keep our heads out of the clouds! These artistic types, I ask you.’


End file.
